Beneath These Tired Eyes
by eighthoctave
Summary: When Molly returns from her third tour, somehow it's Charles who's struggling the most. She doesn't know who the man in front of her is anymore, but she's about to find out. (Rating for language and mild sexual themes)
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Charles/Molly story, I feel a bit late to the party but this story has grabbed hold of me and really won't let go. R &R, I have more of this written so I'm hoping to update fairly regularly. Thank you!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

After her third deployment, when she came home to Charles, they were back in his one bedroom flat in Bath, the one he'd had since he'd left home. His Mum and Dad had bluntly told him to stop wallowing in his old room and go back to his own place. So that's how he'd ended up back there.  
The way he'd described it to her over her tour she was half expecting to come home to some grotty, piss-smelling, bedsit but despite his continued protests she didn't think it was half bad.

"I'm sorry it's so messy." He'd half laughed as she chucked her rucksack down by the sofa. Messy wasn't the right word, Molly had thought, well-lived suited it more. There were trinkets and photos and a rawly overpowering smell of Charles sewn into the seams of the furniture.

"Not bad for a bachelor pad boss-man." She watched him throw her a loose smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, an undercurrent of tiredness she hadn't really noticed before.

"When Rebecca and I were together we had a place but I always hung onto this one, even when Sam was born and we probably could've used the money." He paused and let out a quick sigh. "I think I subconsciously always knew I'd end up back here." He huffed and then shook his head. "And why the fuck am I being all miserable when my beautiful girlfriend has just returned back to me?" He cocked his eyebrow and tackled Molly into a hug.

"Exactly, you tosser, bloody hell if I want depressing I just have to go round to see Dad on a footie night, don't bleeding need it from you as well." He chuckled lightly into her neck and breathed in deeply. The weight of him in her arms, after what had felt like years, was a reminder she was finally home.  
He'd hugged her at Brize, but it had been excited and too short and his parents had been stood to the side watching on. He had been a powder keg of happiness, shaky and smiley and too riled up to properly be her Charlie.  
Now however he was solid. The grip of his fingers into her shirt was slight but it grounded her against him like an anchor. He was warm and a beacon for her to latch onto, so she let out a breath into his chest and squeezed him tighter.

"You smell like Afghan." It wasn't an insult, Molly didn't think, from the way his breath hitched when he let go of that sentence it felt like it had some levity behind it.  
"Well then maybe you can help me wash it off?" Her voice was cocky as she pulled herself back from him. Molly drew her hands down his chest, the bumps of his muscles like a map beneath them.  
She could feel the tremble of his body and the catch in his voice.

"I think that sounds like a great idea." His face was level with Molly's now as he dropped his forehead against hers. The deep brown of his eyes burned straight through Molly as Charles traced his hands up the back of her shirt. "Probably the best idea you've ever had in fact."

* * *

He was naked apart from the supports strapped around his foot and she wanted to jump him. Three months, 12 whole weeks of jolted, frequently interrupted phone sessions, during which she'd pictured him back at home, lying on their bed, rubbing himself like she was there with him.  
In short, 12 weeks of absolute torture.

Molly was perched on the edge of the bath, watching Charles undo the final strap of foot brace and dump it to the side.  
"You're watching me like you want to eat me." He laughed and balanced himself against the sink. His limp was most pronounced when he was naked, when he didn't have the Army issue, carbon fibre supports that kept his right foot from dragging every time he took a step. Without it he was a vulnerable canvas of still red scars and no longer hidden disabilities.

Seeing him so vulnerable, when he'd been her unbelievably strong Captain had been something Molly had struggled with. In the end though she realised rehab could only do a little, slowly, where the bullets had done so much, so quickly.  
If she thought about it for too long she could still see the blood pouring from the jagged scar across his stomach, and so she didn't let herself.

"If I can't appreciate you when you're naked what is even the point of me coming home. Three whole months without getting to see this." She raised her eyebrows as he licked his lips.  
"I'll admit phone sex isn't quite the same." He cupped himself briefly as he padded across the tiles towards her.  
"Mmm, no it is not." Her hands found his waist as she dragged him towards her, her eyes level with his belly button. "But first, I need a wash." With a quick squeeze of his arse, which left him laughing and almost falling over his own feet she dropped herself into the bath, warm, soapy water pulling the tension out of her immediately.  
"Fucking tease." He grumbled and she flipped him the finger.

Molly closed her eyes and let a slow, steady breath out. Behind her eyes she could still feel the heat and the tension, the stress of Bastion. She exhaled the dust and warmth and grime that had clung to her unendingly.  
This third tour had followed only a couple of months after her second, if Molly Dawes could be held to one thing, it was that she never left a job half finished.

A soft grunt from Charles' direction forced her to open her eyes.  
"Need a hand Charlie?" He shook his head as he flopped down behind Molly, the force of it sending water splashing over the sides. "You've gotten better at that." She beamed up at him from where she'd settled herself between his legs. He pouted in response.  
"Is being able to get into a bath really something to brag about?" She shoved his leg playfully where it rested around her waist.  
"It is when some twat face Taliban paralysed your bloody foot you numpty." His arms snaked around her waist, his chin resting on her head.  
"When you put it that way, makes me sound pretty cool."  
"Proper war hero."  
"Don't appreciate the sarcasm Mols." She let herself be held, let herself enjoy the domesticity of something so simple. He smelt like home, masculine and strong and clean. Getting used to loving Charles, not Captain James had been more than just his newfound vulnerability. She loved him for more than his appearance of course but the changes were new things she had to learn about him. He no longer smelt of sand and sweat and starchy, army issue soap, he kept his hair loose and wavy, not as tight to army regs as it'd once been. He'd filled out the sharp lines of his cheeks with some weight and his muscles had softened under her touch. He was as beautiful as he had always been, but she was learning to love him even more as he was now.

His hands traced up her stomach, fingers dancing lightly under her chest. "I missed your boobs." He sounded so wistful she couldn't help but laugh.  
"Proper nice to know you care about the important things."  
"Your boobs are important things." He was so defensive it was almost funny. He dropped his head to start kissing her neck, hands working across her chest with familiarity. "Very, very important things." Molly sighed and started to turn herself around, fully intending on getting her hands on as much of him as possible. "Not yet." It was a whisper against her ear. His strong arms pinned her back against his chest. "Let me take care of you first." It sent shivers through her, the heat of his breath against her cheek.

"What did I do to deserve you?" She sighed as his right hand dipped below the water.

"I ask myself the same thing every day."

* * *

"Me and Charlie were thinking of coming down to see you lot in a few days if you want that." Molly was tucked up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket watching some shit on TV.  
"That sounds nice Mols, your Dad wants to show Charles off to his mates, that his own daughter's dating a posh fella." Belinda was on the other end of the phone, putting on Charles' accent. Molly laughed lightly. "Plus we haven't seen you since you got back."  
"Yeah well, Charlie wanted to come and get me and that, show off his walking. Brize Norton's not even that far from Bath really, his Mum dropped us off." Molly could hear her Mum sigh.  
"You're not ashamed of us are ya Mols?"  
"Fuck off Mother am I hell." Belinda laughed weakly and Molly ran a hand through her hair. "Genuinely, he just wanted to come get me, he's been having it rough without me about to help him, think he just wanted to see me as soon as."  
"Don't blame him, you're a bloody saint, this place is a shit show without you."  
"Alright then, he's packing my stuff away for me so I should probably go and help." Molly shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and stood up. "Love you mum."  
"Love you too darlin' speak to you soon."

Molly padded across the carpet in her socks, past the little kitchen and towards the bedroom. She stopped at the door, Charles was perched on the edge of the bed facing away from her. He was just in his boxers, his back lit up softly by the bedside lamp. This room felt as though it told more stories than Charles could ever tell her. A lot of things about Charlie gave that impression.  
The walls were decorated in photos of him as a teenager, arms around friends and family.  
She felt as though she was stood in a time capsule. The Charles James who was a bright eyed, bushy tailed army officer cadet with a glistening career ahead of him sat in front of her.  
If she looked close enough she could follow the timeline further. His Sandhurst acceptance letter was clearly pinned on his wall surrounded by an array of photos of Charlie. She could have presumed they were recent, he hadn't changed much over the years, except for the fact his rank was betrayed by his uniform and Molly was staring not at the Captain, but at Lieutenant James.  
Molly could recognise the landscape anywhere however, could spot the dust in the cracks of a smile and the tan lines that come from wearing full kit on patrol. Afghanistan gave itself up easily.  
The photos of Sam were clustered into their own section just above his desk, pinned with much more care than the others.

"Thought you were supposed to be packing my stuff away." He let out a grunt and jumped to his feet, hand grabbing for something against his leg. "What are you doing, were you having a wank or something you dirty bugger?" Molly laughed and walked towards the edge of the bed.

The lamp light flickered as Charles span around.

Molly stopped.

Charles stopped.

It was a moment, only a moment but she saw fear in his eyes. She saw a look she hadn't seen since she'd had her fist in his abdomen trying to stop him dying in front of her. He looked at her like he was drowning, he was drowning and she couldn't save him.  
She could almost hear him screaming her name.

His hand trembled against his thigh.

"Thought I was supposed to be the jumpy one mister." Her smile was a cease fire. He forced his eyes up to look into hers and ran a hand through his hair.

"I, um, I just got distracted, you surprised me. Sorry if I gave you a fright." She looked at the photos of him on the wall and back to the man in front of her.

"Now help me put my crap away." She wondered if he still recognised himself in them.

"Yes ma'am." If she had noticed that his hands were still trembling as he reached for her bag, she chose not to say anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Back again with chapter 2, which has in the space of a week morphed itself from a few hundred words into this near 5k monster. Thank you so much for the support from the last chapter, it was genuinely overwhelming to get so many lovely comments! I've had stories in more popular fandoms with many more views but never as many comments. Reading back through them was a definite push to get on writing this so thank you again.**

 **I hope you all enjoy this, I tried to give us all some positivity to the angsty being that is my Charles James.**

 **All feedback is welcome, also can we talk about how hyped I am for series two in just over a week!**

I'm using this authors note like a chat room so i'll shut up now.

 **PS xxx**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"You bloody need to learn how to drive." The train was obnoxiously full and Charles was sat in a window seat with his arms folded firmly across his chest. There were screaming children and teenagers and a suspicious scent of body odour lingering overhead.  
The sound that was grinding him the most however was the drone of clinking cans and the roar of football chants from the group of men occupying the table seats ahead of them. He had made no hesitation to moan to Molly about that repeatedly.

"You need to learn to stop sulking." Molly nudged him with her shoulder and quirked a smile. "An' anyway, they're just looking forward to the match it's not like they're causing no trouble."  
There were six of them, big, burly men all dressed in West Ham kit. Their tables were scattered with empty cans of Carling, the carriage's Body odour problem enhanced with the stench of the stale beer that had been spilt a few minutes into the hour and a half journey.

Charles was feeling an unpleasant combination of travel sick and anxious. It was hard for him to rationalise why the presence of people could make him feel claustrophobic but at that particular moment in time you could have locked him in a pitch black box and it would've had the same effect as the ever increasing volume of the voices ahead of him.

"Oi gorgeous, you sound proper cockney where you from then?" Charles' mouth was very quickly dry. He could feel the soft tick of his heart bubbling up to a pound behind his ears.

"Newham fella, right by the grounds." Molly cracked the reply back and the men cheered.

"Maybe I could come visit you after the match then sweetheart." Charles nearly growled in response, could feel the grumble in his chest, an animalistic, raw need to protect.

She was his fiercely independent, choose her own meal, need no man Molly Dawes. And he knew, Charles knew deep under the rage that she could hold herself up with the lads better than he could. He knew that with her cheeky smile and lash of banter she would always blend in better than he and his upper class, private school ponce could ever allow him to. And he _knew_ she was fine.  
But he wanted to hurt them. He wanted to hold this idiot by his throat and make him leave her alone.

"He your boyfriend love? Looks like he wants to bite my knob off with that stare." Molly glanced back at him with a look that was equal parts confused and concerned.

"Yeah, sorry lads, this fella's the only one allowed back round mine." He wanted to scream but his mouth was so dry. He tried to talk, tried to tell this idiot to fuck off but his throat was an empty expanse, his voice lost somewhere in the distance.

"Alright love, but if he turns out to be a dud, you can have a proper hard man here." The man flexed his biceps and Molly scoffed.

"I ain't dating no West Ham supporters, seen what it done to my bloody Dad, tragic you lot are." He grumbled dejectedly, deciding the beer in front of him was clearly more interesting than losing this battle.

Charles dropped his head against the window and slung an arm around Molly. The need to have her very close to him suddenly massively outweighed his need to sulk. "Well you've changed your tune." She mumbled and settled against his chest. He stared out of the window.

He had no idea where they were, somewhere in the vast unknown between Bath and London, a stretch of fields and nothingness. The horizon was so bland you could be excused for thinking the train wasn't moving. If it hadn't been for the hulking figures of pylons dotted every few hundred metres Charles wasn't sure he could be convinced they were.  
The repetition of scenery made the journey feel like some unending purgatory, where the towns that must have surrounded these fields were an illusion and both Bath and London were places he could only dream of.

He watched the first drops of rain against the window and counted the thrum of his pulse in his ears until it dropped to what he considered a reasonable pace.

"You definitely need to learn to drive." He grumbled again, letting the monotony of the repetition lull him asleep.

* * *

Charles woke up with a crick in his neck, a patch of dribble drying on his chin and a sharp jabbing pain in his ribs.

"Morning sunshine." The pain, it turned out, was Molly repeatedly poking him. She stood above him, dangling his rucksack from her free hand.

"Fuck me I feel rough." He cracked his neck and pulled himself to his feet.

"Yeah I was gonna lie and say you sleep like an angel but I've never seen anything less sexy." Charles laughed and grabbed his bag from her. He wasn't sure whether to class London as heaven or hell, but at least he'd arrived somewhere.

"I always look sexy." He stepped cautiously over the detritus left from the men and took a deep lungful of the stale carriage air. He felt calmer, the sleep had pulled the anger from him, and as Molly helped him down off the train and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he felt briefly like his mind and body were at peace.

Paddington station was a sprawling space in front of him, the huge glass ceiling arching above. The platform was relatively empty by London standards, the fact it was a rainy Tuesday afternoon weeding out opportunistic tourists. Everyone around him looked slightly damp and slightly pissed off.  
Having been sat down for a few hours meant his leg, which was temperamental at best, had well and truly given up on him. He walked slowly, letting the aching muscles find their strength, letting his body remember the new rhythm of his walking.  
He looked slightly disbelievingly back at the woman tutting at his slow speed as she overtook him as soon as she possibly could. "I really don't understand your love of London." He watched the woman with a scowl.

"In London, no one's alike which means everyone fits in." Molly mused. Charles threw a look of disbelief at her as they walked towards the exit.

"Bit deep Dawes." She grabbed his hand and shook her head.

"It's from Paddington you cock. My sister loved that movie." She thought to herself for a second. "And anyway I can say smart things every now and again." She must have caught sight of the brief panic that smothered his smile because a grin came over hers. "Don't pull that face."

"What face?" Charles exclaimed as they both stopped.

"The one that looks like I kicked your puppy." She punctuated the sentence with a peck on his lips. "I know you don't think I'm stupid Charlie." It had been something that had bothered her when they'd first got together after Afghanistan, when his parents and his friends had first met her and clearly tried to hide their shock when she opened her mouth. It had driven Charles mad, the idea that she felt judged by the people he loved. He'd never once been ashamed of her, and the idea his friends and family could make her feel that way was something he held with great guilt.

Both of her hands found his waist and she span him around. "Tickets are in your bag." He stood patiently as she unzipped and retrieved the tickets they needed to pass through the gates into the rumble of London beyond them.

"Sam loved Paddington. I took him to see it when I was home." He hadn't seen Sam since Molly had returned, his weekend had been traded off so he could welcome her home. Molly pressed the ticket into his hand.

"Well Sam has good taste then."

"Of course he does, he is my son after all."

The lift of the fog in his head was so refreshing he smiled, cocky and light and tucked Molly's hand back into his own. Sleep, he had realised, was his mental equivalent of hitting the computer until it worked right again.  
Charles felt confident, he felt good, and he hobbled with an increasing pace towards the exit with his chin held high.

* * *

"Are you actually nervous?" Molly laughed at him, feeling the light sweat of his palm as they sat next to each other on the tube, hand in hand. Twenty minutes of navigating his way down to the platform later he had finally plonked himself down in the train. The one thing he dreaded more than anything these days was an ominous 'lift out of order' sign. In conclusion to the whole purgatory debate he had decided, half way down the endless flight of stairs, that London was hell, 100% hell.

"I feel like I'm about to land in Helmand." He gestured with a pointed finger around the carriage. "This is my metaphorical Chinook."Charles dropped his head with a smile and shook his head lightly.

"My parents are pretty scary but I don't think they're Taliban bad." She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder.

"They made you, so that means they have to be pretty amazing."All she could see out of the window was the blackness of the tube tunnels. Molly herself felt a bubble of nervous energy in her stomach. Charles had met her Mum once, at Brize when she headed towards her 3rd tour, but it had been brief and full of formalities and both Molly and Belinda had spent half the time crying.

"You're disgusting sometimes you know that." He scoffed, Molly looking up from her perch on his shoulder.

"I am a bloody gentleman." He nudged her off him and crossed his arms over his chest. "An underappreciated gentleman."

"This is the second time today you've sat sulking on a train." He emphasised the pout, trying to suppress the bubble of laughter building behind it.

Molly sometimes felt so much love for him that it took her breath away.  
It was hard not to be completely enamoured with this happy version of himself. The days when he was the bossman who'd had his paddling pool sent over by his Mum, the man who'd forced her into glorified karaoke and chatted her up with an espresso machine were infuriatingly enjoyable.  
She didn't understand how anyone could have let him go, struggled to imagine what Rebecca had seen in the cracks of their marriage. Time apart was one thing, yes, but when the seconds back together were illustrated by that stupid grin, she couldn't fathom the idea of anything being worth giving it up for.  
And now, as if to illustrate her point, he was giggling like a kid on the tube because he couldn't hold it together for long enough to sulk properly.

"I love you, you numpty." She kissed his cheek and returned to staring out the window. They'd passed up out of the tunnel now, but given the current weather there hadn't been much of a shift in the shade of grey she was staring out at.

The voice overhead announced they were approaching Upton Park, Molly took to her feet and gave Charles a look that he should follow.

"So this is it." He held her shoulder tightly as he dropped down from the train onto the platform, landing with a plonk and a splash in a puddle on the concrete. The sky was muggier and more grey than it had even appeared through the smeared windows of the train, a smattering of rain threatened to destroy the perfect daughter make up routine Molly had perfected so she darted quickly under the shelters. He followed as quickly as he could manage after what had been a very long day of wearing his support with no respite. "You know what I lied." He shook the rain from his hair as he joined her under the shelters. "I'm more nervous than Afghan."

* * *

"It's nice to properly meet you Charles." Dave was furiously shaking his hand, Belinda was hugging Molly within an inch of her life and there was a toddler latched onto Charles' leg. "Can I call you Charles? Do you prefer Captain or Charlie…" Dave petered off, staring expectantly at Charles with eyes that reminded him immediately of Molly.

"Charles, Charlie whatever is fine by me." He was nodding furiously, still shaking Dave's hand. He wasn't actually sure who was more nervous out of the pair of them.

"Dave let go of the poor bastard, you're scaring him." Belinda pushed Dave's shoulder and he dropped Charles' hand as if it were burning him. "Charlie, how have you been?" He was now wrapped up in Belinda's arms, still stood on the balcony, still in the rain, still with a small unidentified child on his leg.

"Michael, let go of him." Molly sounded exasperated, as though she'd dealt with this exact situation a thousand times.

"Oh God, what you going to think of us lot attacking you like this? Bet you didn't get this with his folks did ya Mols?" Belinda laughed nervously, Charles stood there feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights. "Come in anyway, cooked Mol's favourite I have." He glanced across at Molly, eyes wide, she seemed to completely miss his signals for some kind of help and just nodded reassuringly.  
Charles swiftly received immediate and deeply distressing flashbacks to meeting his first girlfriend's parents when he was 16. She'd been a bit of a hippy type and in all honesty the pair of them had very, very little in common aside from the fact they were both big fans of the perk that they finally had someone to have sex with. The meal had gone well, until discussions of the army had arisen and his girlfriend's Dad had called him a right wing fascist for wanting to join, Charles had swiftly replied by calling him a disillusioned leftie fucker and the whole thing had ended rather abruptly.  
He'd returned home at 10pm sharp, newly single, and with the remnants of a glass of red wine poured over his new shirt.

Molly smiled at him again as Dave and Belinda filed into the house.

At least this time he didn't have to worry about the whole army thing.

"They're harmless, but they're mental." She tucked an arm around his waist.

"Well I can see where you get in from now." He relished the warmth of her body against his for a moment before pushing forward into the small house.

She'd briefed him on the chaos to expect, and even now he could feel her looking up at him expectantly. Charles hated more than anything the idea she could ever be ashamed of her family or her upbringing, he hated himself for ever letting her think that.

"Living room's just in here Charles. I had the older ones set up the new sofa bed for you both." Belinda was still watching him was a manic smile, so he replied with his most charming grin and placed the rucksack he was carrying down next to it. That grin was his weapon, it had won over girlfriend's parents, teachers and police officers to name but a few.

"How'd you afford that?" Molly swept her eyes over it appreciatively. Belinda glanced at Charles and looked briefly embarrassed.

"It's on HP from the bright house. I was hoping it might convince you two to visit more." He realised quickly it was down to him to remove any embarrassment from the situation.

"Reckon we should get one? For when you get fed up of me and make me sleep on the couch." Dave piped up with a laugh at that one.

"Bloody right there Charlie, it's making my nights in the doghouse pretty cushy." Molly rolled her eyes and Belinda flat out glared at Dave. "Proper bed and the footie, what more could I want?" His laugh died down to a smile. "You watch the footie Charlie?"

"Seen a few Bath city matches over my time but they're bloody shit, so I keep up with the rugby more." Dave seemed to nod in appreciation and Charles relaxed an inch. He wasn't sure what he'd managed to pull together but it seemed to be going infinitely better than some of his previous experiences.

"You play much?"

"Yes sir." Charles laughed. "Not so much since I hurt my leg, but I played for the Army's under 23s when I first joined."

"See that Mols, real men play sports, not like them losers you've had round here before." Dave walked towards Charles and clapped him on the back.

"Oh yeah, Fifa doesn't count Dad so what does that make you?" Molly scoffed and folded her arms across her chest.

"I'll have you know I was nearly scouted for the academy when I was a lad, so you want to watch your mouth. Anyway, can't do much sport with my back." Belinda waved him out of the room, realising the glare wasn't quite blunt enough.

"Dinner will be about half an hour if you want to sort your stuff out."

"Yeah, will do, thanks Mum."

They both stood quietly for a second, Molly glancing across to Charles. He plonked himself down on the edge of the mattress and let out a sigh.  
"Did I do ok?" He tipped his head up and she locked her fingers through his hair.  
"You did fab." Charles' eyes flickered shut, Molly's hand massaging his scalp.

* * *

Dinner had gone as follows: Charles had complimented everyone and everything as often as he possibly could until Belinda was blushing past herself. Dessert had been succeeded by Charles telling Molly's younger siblings his limp had been the work of a great white, followed of course by a dramatic re-enactment. Finally, after a few frantic phone calls to various friends and family to find a babysitter, a pilgrimage to the pub tied them over as the sun set in the distance.

Molly peered over the pint in her hand at Charles. He looked surprisingly comfortable, but she figured a double scotch and a fourth pint of beer would do that to any man.  
The pub was busy, the usually jammed beer garden had been abandoned for the rain and the bar was completely hidden by a wall of people trying to get drinks.

Bonding, was what her Dad had called it. In reality she was fairly certain it was the joint appeal of showing Charles off, and the fact he had already bought Dave two rounds by this point in the evening.  
Charles didn't look at all out of place, he was the perfect chameleon and it so happened that today that included becoming completely inconspicuous whilst surrounded by a gang of Dave's mates from the pub.  
In honesty he was the kind of man who could charm anyone if he smiled at you for long enough. He had that kind of face, the type of genetic born handsomeness that demanded respect. Charles innocently enough hadn't really seemed to notice that particular effect, leaving him a rather rare combination of effortlessly beautiful and endearingly modest.

The wet of the beer against his lips hung languidly. He didn't seem in any massive rush to lick them clean, although Molly didn't think she'd mind the view if he did.  
The dim lighting of the pub warmed the side of his face closest to Molly, highlighting the glint of pink making itself known in the whites of his eyes. He blinked slowly, holding his eyes shut for a moment too long before startling himself back into the conversation with a sluggish smile and a nod.  
He was all but glowing with the ruddy warmth of being drunk, the perfect interim between sober and way too far gone.

She studied him intensely for a minute, inhibitions tarnished by the fuzz over her head.  
Molly stared at the bruised puddles of purple beneath his eyes, the faint lines clawing the edge showing too many late nights, and too many years of seeing things haunting enough to leave a permanent stain. It didn't mar his face, simply added a layer of character, gave an air of credibility to his features.

She wasn't sure what they were talking about, she'd heard someone mention a new motorbike and had zoned off at that point. Prior to that someone had been showing Charles bullet scars from Ireland, someone had declared rugby a pussy's sport and at one point someone had demanded an opinion on some page 3 model's tits. He seemed to be taking it in his stride so she left him to it.

Her Mum and Nan were sat nattering amongst themselves and Molly was an island between the two groups.

Charles dropped his hand onto the sticky red leather of the bench they were sat on and flicked his eyes her way. She wrapped their hands together and shuffled closer, her shoulder digging into his arm, the soft flannel of his shirt dusting against her skin.

"He's lovely you know Molly." Her Nan broke her trance, nodding Charles' way, speaking quietly enough as to not burn his ears. "Don't get gents like him that often anymore."

"I know." She squeezed his hand in hers lightly, his thumb dusting against the back of hers in response, tracing invisible patterns against her skin. Molly's Nan seemed to take pause for a minute, watching the two of them with a knowing kind of look.

"I might have been wrong when I said you only get one good one."

Sometime later, long enough for her beer to be luke warm and her Mum to have disappeared off to relieve the babysitter, he dropped his eyes back down to her and pressed his lips against her ear.

"Could we go get some air?" The beer was strong on his breath, hops and bitterness catching her briefly.

"Yeah, of course we can." She squeezed his hand again and painted a saccharine smile across her cheeks. "Charlie's a bit warm, just gonna pop out for a minute." She tugged him up and across the floor of the pub.

Under the moonlight he was a silhouette of himself, just the steep slope of his nose and the jut of his jaw standing proud against the backlight of the window.

The street ahead of them was empty, an eerie calm lying like a blanket across the pavement. There was one kebab shop open on the corner and it glowed like some strip-lit artificial reality amongst the darkness of the world around it. She could smell the greasy donner meat from here and it knocked a wave through her beer filled stomach.  
She tried to block out the stench and focused on the man next to her. There was a slight tremble of his hand in hers. No matter how hard she forced her brain to think she couldn't remember whether it had been like this the whole time or if this was new.

"Are you cold?" His silhouette broke free of its back light. He tipped his head down to her level, scrunched his face to look very confused and shook his head briefly.

"No, I'm fine. Just wanted to step out for a second." There was a catch of a slur at the end of his sentence, a drag that seemed to surprise him as much as her.

"Cause my Dad's gone and got you pissed." She laughed and swung his arm, expecting a smile and laugh in response. He stood silent and turned his head back up to its prior position. The steel of his jaw caught her by surprise, the clench of his teeth evident from the taught way his muscles pressed against his skin.

"Are you ok?" He kept his eyes locked forward. "Charlie, are you ok?" He closed his eyes briefly. She thought, stupidly in hindsight, that he was too drunk, just a pint past his limit.

The seconds of silence dragged on long enough for the sound of his voice to be a surprise not an expectation.

"I am completely ok." He dropped her hand and scratched at the stubble of his jaw. "Let's go back in." He huffed out a lungful of air, and emerged with a much more sober look on his face. "I'm being rude let's go back inside." He sounded like a man trying to win an argument.

"If you want to go home, no one will mind." A lot of her wanted him to say yes. A lot of her just wanted him to say anything.

If she answered completely truthfully she wanted him to sit down and explain the dullness of his smile and the haze over his eyes. She wanted him to walk her home and admit to something she was getting torturously small glimpses of beneath the surface. She wanted him to say _something_.

But they were both drunk enough to not know the right thing to do.

He opened his mouth, a syllable catching on his tongue, Molly waited and that moment grew and held so much weight in its belly that it became something else entirely.

He glanced up at the sky and closed his mouth tightly.

They were drunk enough that instead of a rational reply Charles puffed up his chest and forced whatever demons had weighted his shoulders away.

She hadn't realised how close the something of that moment had been. If there had been one more star in the sky; if he had had one less scotch, or for that matter, one more; if the voice in Charles' head had screamed just one decibel louder, maybe the glimpses she had would've revealed the body that was weighing down his soul.  
Instead he took her back inside and spent the rest of the evening buying rounds and impressing her family, and he smiled and he laughed and he didn't let go of her hand.

* * *

"You look happy." Smurf was sat in front of her. They were holed up in a compound in one of the outposts. She didn't recognise it exactly, just generic dry clay walls and the mumblings of Corporal Kinders and Captain James behind the wall.

"Cause I am you muppet." Smurf stared her down with a look she hadn't seen from him before.

"Because I'm not there anymore?"

"Smurf?" He was lying in the road, screaming. Smurf was screaming her name, screaming for a medic. "Smurf what's wrong, what hurts?" He wouldn't tell her, he was just screeching her name. "I can't see what's wrong." She was patting him down, desperately searching for his injury but he was just screaming endlessly in front of her.

She was useless.

She was useless and it was her fault.

When she woke up she could see him for a second, see him laughing and smiling and being her wonderful Smurf.

"Hey." There was a hand on her shoulder. "Are you ok?" She twisted over to face Charles. She was lost for a second. Confused of how and why and she could still see him sat at the table and sleeping on the sofa under her duvet.

"What time is it?" Molly grumbled and let her eyes flicker shut. He was a monster with her sister on his back, he was her first good one.

"Half four." Came the whispered reply as she felt the draw of fingers through her hair. "Bad dream?"

Molly forced her eyes open, Charles was propped up with a few pillows watching a repeat of the rugby on his phone, although at this minute in time the screen was forgotten and he was just staring down at her, brows knitted together with concern.

Her heart was hurting, a heavy ache thick like treacle in her veins. She didn't want to disturb him with the details, he didn't need that anymore than she did.

"Yeah, just thinking about Smurf again." She slung an arm across his waist and nuzzled into his side. He was a warm brick of comfort, solid and real and reassuring. "How come you're awake?"

Charles wrapped his headphones around his phone and shoved it onto the floor. He paused letting out a sigh and sliding back down the bed until he was level with Molly.

"Not sure." He dropped a kiss onto her forehead. "Nut won't shut up." The room was silent aside from the quiet chirping of the birds outside the window. "Did you want to talk about it?"

She wanted to cry about it, yes, but talk, no. She didn't think it was humanly possible to find words to describe the way she felt now, back in this room, lying with this man next to her.

He fiddled with her hair, fingertips running softly against her scalp.

She paused for a moment and let their breathing sync up, her hand found his chest to feel the soft beating of his heart beneath his shirt. Charles was magnificently alive, real and breathing and the complete antithesis of the haunting sight of Smurf at the edge of her vision.

He waited patiently for her reply.

She wondered whether they ever would have won in Vegas.

"I love you Charlie." She hoped he took that as her answer.

"Love you too Mols." She felt his finger wipe the tear from her cheek and let him engulf her in his arms. "Love you so much."


	3. Chapter 3

**Back again for a third chapter, cannot thank you all enough for the support!**

 **I wanted to use this space to shed some light on Charles' disability - Foot drop. I'm a medical student which means I put way too much time into thinking about this.**

 **Obviously FF hates links but**

 **The video below is an example of what Charles would look like walking without his support. Just tack that on the end of a youtube link  
/watch?v=CuuNtaLvwA8**

 **And for an example of the kind of support he'd be wearing just google the Ossur AFO dynamic drop foot brace.**

 **So yeah that's just a bit of extra detail for anyone who's interested.**

 **Anway, hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Molly woke up to quiet humming, the source of which was Charles getting dressed in the corner of the room.

She had one eye cracked open, the other half obscured by the duvet which was pulled up past her nose. She was warm to the point of it almost being unbearable, but something about the fact it was the morning and she was unbelievably comfortable meant she had no desire to move.

Charles dropped his sleep shorts and stretched his arms above his head. The sight of his bare arse was not exactly what she'd been expecting to wake up to but she wasn't one to complain.

Had the real threat of either her parents or a sibling marching down the stairs into their make shift bedroom not been looming over her she would've sacrificed the warmth of her duvet cave to make the most of his current situation.

He looked like one of those Greek, marble statues. The early morning sun was dappled across his back, the shadow of his muscles sharp. She could have watched him all day, long effortless limbs framed so beautifully in this light.

He turned around with a yawn, scratching his shoulder and heading towards his overnight bag to find a pair of boxers.

"I can see you watching me you pervert." He didn't look her way, just continued rooting in his bag.

"I am a Perv and proud." It came out muffled under the mound of fabric covering her mouth but he heard enough to make him laugh, bright and carefree.

Charles sat himself down on her side of the bed squashing one of her legs. Molly pulled the covers down and freed her head.

"The things I want to do to you right now." She watched the smile that brought to his face as he reached down and with some careful manoeuvring worked his right foot through the hole in his boxers.

"I think I'm too hungover to even think about getting hard." He pulled them the rest of the way up and then wiggled himself to lie alongside Molly. "It feels like something died in my head." He was stretched out on top of the covers, feet free of his usual regiment of socks, supports and sensible shoes.

Molly, with great reluctance, prised herself from underneath the duvet and sat on the edge of the sofa bed. She had to admit her head wasn't exactly feeling the most fresh it ever had. "Ditto."

"Do you think your parents will mind if I just don't move from here for today." He closed his eyes and dropped his hands onto his stomach. "It doesn't feel like a clothes kind of day."

She stood up and steadied herself. Her clothes from last night were abandoned in a crude pile near the armchair, Charles' support shoved perilously into his shoes, everything looking as if no attempt at ironing could ever get rid of the creases this floor had imprinted on them.

Molly felt sticky and uncomfortable. Her eyes felt puffy and heavy from falling back asleep still crying, her feet sore from the heels it felt like she'd climbed Everest in. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and pulled a face.

"I look proper tragic." Charles opened one eye and tilted his chin up to look at her.

"You look beautiful." She poked at the bags under her eyes and frowned. "You always look beautiful." It made Molly feel almost self-conscious how honestly he said that. She found the idea of being unconditionally adored by another person quite difficult to comprehend.

She span back around to face him and watched as his face cycled through a couple of different expressions. He was thinking. One thing Molly had found on spending more and more time with Charles was that his face was incredibly easy to read once you knew the subtle flecks of signals to look for.

"Are you ok?" He said it and bit his lip, as if he wasn't entirely confident the words had even been said loud enough for her to hear.

"Bit hungover but yeah." Her reply was a question, a look of confusion planting itself firmly on her face.

"No I mean, I just wanted to check." He paused and drew his eyebrows together. "Those dreams about Smurf and stuff, they haven't been…" He trailed off as if he didn't quite know what he wanted to say. His impact had been made clear enough however.

Molly climbed onto the bed and lay down next to him.

"Bless you Mr. James for worrying but I am completely ok." She ran her hand across the curve of his chest. "It's just being in this place. It was the last place I saw him before the grounds." She swallowed, a thick lump catching her off guard. "It brings back the memories."

She felt the sink of his body as he let out a sigh.

"You know you can always talk to me about that stuff if it's bothering you." He said it with an authority, as if he'd run the words over in his head a few times before.

Molly's mind drifted back to the pub, the sense of something large being unspoken was still pressing over her. She pushed his chin so that his face tilted towards her.

"I know, same to you too. If anything's bothering you at all Charlie I'll always be here to listen." Molly's eyes searched his face for a flicker of anything, but the expressiveness she usually found there was suddenly holed up behind a brick wall of an impasse.

"I know." He leant forward and kissed her lightly. Charles pulled away and paused for a second before scrunching up his nose and rolling onto his back. "You definitely are still the most beautiful person I've ever seen and everything but I would recommend brushing your teeth." Molly sat up sharply and purposefully kneed him in the ribs as she climbed over him and off the bed.

"You're a dickhead Charlie." She left the room with a smile, the soundtrack of him laughing in the background filling the silence of the house and bringing an end to the seriousness of their conversation.

* * *

The sofa bed had been folded away for the day, the dirty clothes commandeered by Belinda for the washing and Charles was now three spoonfuls into his bowl of Coco Pops.

He was sat around the small dining table, nodding along to Molly's brother Thomas' retelling of his dream last night whilst Belinda tried to wrestle his school tie around his neck. Charles himself was wearing sweat pants and a Mr Grumpy t-shirt, interestingly the only T-Shirt Molly had remembered to pack for him. She claimed it was a coincidence, the smirk on her face said otherwise.

Thomas was halfway through the part where his teacher had been eaten by a dinosaur when a splash of milk against Charles' hand drew his attention away.  
Molly's spoon was firmly lodged in his breakfast.  
It took him a second to work out why she had such a dopey grin on her face, but soon enough he was back in Afghanistan, for once with a pleasant memory coming to mind.

"So you're allowed to dip your spoon in my coco pops now then?" He shoved her hand away and laughed. Molly ducked her head close to his.

"I figured we'd reached that level in our relationship Boss." She pecked his cheek and stood back up, resting her hand on the back of Charles' chair.

The room was briefly quiet, Belinda having won her battle against Thomas had now moved on to force the older kids out of bed. Charles had planted another spoonful in his mouth and was skim reading Dave's paper on the table.

"When are you getting married?" Thomas had clearly decided no one was paying enough attention to his dream anymore. Charles choked on his cereal.

"Tom what the hell?" Molly stared down her brother who looked confused to say the least.

"I'm just asking." He crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. "Mum said that when you get married I get a nephew like straight away. She said he'd be my age and everything." Tom aggressively returned to eating his own cereal. "I figured when you get married he must just like appear or something." There was a light spray of cheerio residue as he spoke with his mouth full.

Molly looked very confused.

"Babies don't just appear when you get married Thomas." Thomas at this point looked completely exasperated with the whole misunderstanding.

"Not babies, a boy, my age." He stared at them with his face pulled into one of utter disbelief that these supposed adults could be this stupid. Molly and Charles were staring back at him with a very similar look.

After running the sentence through his head a few times Charles was the first to clock on.

"Oh, he means Sam."

"Who's Sam?" Thomas had perked up. Charles smiled and reached for his phone in his pocket.

"This is Sam." Charles' background photo was of the two of them together in the park.

"So he already exists." Thomas looked even more confused now. Charles set his phone down in front of Thomas who was staring intently at the boy in the photo.

"Sam is my son, he's 8 now and he's in year 3."

"I'm in year 3!" Thomas was beaming across at Charles, a gappy smile that immediately made him feel a pang for Sam.

"I'm sure Sam would love to meet you soon Thomas, you don't have to wait until when we get married." The certainty of the last part of the sentence felt strange to Charles. It had been something he'd thought about, of course, but the idea of it being a real thing he could conceivably have was enough to send a flutter through his chest.

"Does Sam like transformers? Because Michael is too little to like transformers and the girls won't play them with me."

"Sam loves transformers. He has a really cool Optimus Prime that I helped him build last year." Thomas was grinning to himself.

"I'm going to tell Mum." He slid off the chair, abandoning half a bowl of cheerios, and ran out of the dining room.

Charles couldn't hide the smile that was pushing against his cheeks.

"When we get married eh?" Molly sat down in Thomas' seat and dropped her chin onto her hands. "You better find a fancier way of proposing than talking transformers with my kid brother." Charles could feel the burn of his cheeks. He picked up a stray cheerio and held it out in front of him.

"Do you, Molly Dawes, take this ring…" He couldn't hold down the laugh long enough to finish the sentence.

"You are still a dickhead."

"Your favourite dickhead who is great with children and who you're going to marry eventually." He felt smug and that clearly was showing on his face because Molly gave him a look and then shook her head.

"Add cocky to that list." The pair of them sat quietly for a minute. Charles could do nothing but smile at her.

She'd had a shower and smelt floral and clean and he wanted to nuzzle himself into her neck and never let go.

"Would you be ok if I introduced Sam to your family?" Charles realised he'd been fairly presumptuous in his invitation.

"Yeah of course. As long as you think Sam would be ok with it." Charles nodded and swallowed a mouthful of cereal.

"He already thinks you're great."

He'd been terrified of introducing the pair, scared Molly would panic and run, even more petrified that Sam would hate her. Charles had sat down with Rebecca rather reluctantly and discussed endlessly the arrangements, if he could be thankful for one thing it was that Rebecca knew how important it was Sam got to spend time with his Dad.

The first time they met, outside of the awkward hospital encounter, had been in the few months between Molly's tours.  
'Daddy's girlfriend' had felt pretty strange coming out of his mouth. They'd gone bowling and to the park and Sam had spent the whole time talking to Molly, he thought she was hilarious and she kept buying him sweets behind Charles' back.  
At the end of the whole thing he'd hugged her tightly and asked when they could next go out.

"As I said, the boy has good taste." Molly replied and stood back up, collecting Thomas' dishes and ferrying them out to the kitchen.

"Genuinely think he prefers you to me sometimes." Charles stood up, testing his weight on his foot before walking cautiously towards the kitchen.

"Good. Taste." Molly pointed the spoon at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Who has good taste?" Belinda walked back into the kitchen and started frantically shoving various sandwiches into lunchboxes.

"Charlie's Sam." Molly replied, squirting some dish soap into the washing up bowl.

"Thomas was going on about Sam then, something about the fact I was wrong about nephews only existing when people are married. I had no idea what he was on about." She smiled and shook her head, counting repeatedly the boxes in front of her. "When do I get to meet him anyway? Future grandchild and all that."

"Is everyone in this family trying to force us to get married?" Molly glanced across at Charles who kept quiet from his perch by the door.

"In mine and your dad's day if you'd been together a year and weren't married it meant something funny was going on." Belinda had finished packing now and so leant back against the counter with her arms folded. "And anyway we give you our blessing Charles if you want to ask her." Charles laughed as Molly dropped the bowl back into the sink, bubbles splashing her shirt.

"Do I not get a say in this?" Belinda shook her head.

"Look, I got a really nice dress from BHS in the sale for Michelle and Dwayne's wedding but then obviously he got sent down for 10 years so that's not happening. I need to wear it whilst I still fit it and with the stress these monsters are giving me I only give it a year or two before I bloody eat myself to a size 16." Charles was smiling to himself, making every effort to stay out of this as much as possible.

"Alright then Charlie, looks like we're getting hitched. God help the idea my mother wasted £15 on a dress." Molly dropped the tea towel dramatically huffing and crossing her arms like a kid. He wanted to kiss that frown off her face so much.

"To be honest it'd work quite nicely at a christening too, so whichever's easiest." Belinda winked in Charles' direction as Molly let out a laugh of disbelief.

"Bloody hell." Charles was laughing at her, the bubble he'd been holding back bursting out of him with force. He had to steady himself against the wall as Molly tried desperately to look actually pissed off with him.

"The cheek." Molly grumbled as Belinda left the kitchen, shouting names up the stairs.

"I really like your Mum." If she'd been only trying before, the glare that Molly threw in Charles' direction that time was 100% authentic.

* * *

They were sat on the tube back into London.

"So I'll only be half an hour probably." Molly was texting away, glancing at the time on the screen with a mild look of concern. "Not sure how long Jackie can get for break." Charles nodded. "God I haven't seen her in so long." She was beaming with excitement "She was such a lifesaver when you got hurt."

Contrary to the weather yesterday, the late May sun had decided to descend on London with all its might. The carriage was warm with the kind of stagnant air you can only get inside buses or trains, the kind that felt thicker with each breath. It was busy too, enough that Charles had been forced to endure the embarrassment of a woman giving up her seat for him.

He'd tried to insist that he was ok but it fell on deaf ears. She'd looked him up and down in his shorts, pieced together the limp and the scars and the black carbon strapped around his calf and stood immediately, threatening an even larger scene if he didn't do as instructed.

"Why do you look so grumpy?" Charles was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, actively trying to avoid starting a conversation.

He considered lying and trying to divert the conversation back to Molly but he was uncomfortable and felt awkward enough without having to make up some excuse.

"I got an email from my CO." He felt the crumble of his voice before he even said the words. Molly locked her phone and dropped her hands into her lap.

"And."

"He said I'm not eligible for voluntary resignation whilst I'm under an active investigation." He watched the flicker of dejection catch her expression and felt the low rumble of anxiety catch his chest. "Which means I have to pursue a medical discharge." Charles swallowed, his eyes falling away from Molly's.

"Which isn't quick?" He shook his head.

"No, so that means I'm going to have to work in the barracks for a little while until it goes through I think. That or I have to wait for them to close the case on Smurf and that could take even longer." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out a curt sigh. His sick leave and holiday time had run out and this last-ditch attempt at ending his career easily had disappeared from under him.

"Ok." Molly frowned. "We can work with that though right?"

The idea of stepping foot in a barracks made his stomach flip. The idea of being back in uniform, of being _Captain_. The last time anyone had called him Captain he'd been at the funeral of the soldier who'd died under his watch.

There was a lady sat across from them talking in hushed tones to her son. He wasn't sure what language they were speaking but all he knew was it wasn't English.

He felt sick.

"Yeah." It was barely a whisper above the rumble of the train. "Yeah of course we can." He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "It'll be a few weeks tops." Charles heard the cock of a gun and reached down to his thigh. It took him a second to realise why he couldn't feel the heavy weight of his gun resting against his leg, to remember this wasn't Afghanistan.

When he lifted his head back up Molly was watching him, lips tight, eyes shielded with concern.

"I know you're disappointed, but it's only a few weeks of boring paperwork." He coughed, feeling stupid at his lapse in judgement.

"Then I can get on with my life." He kept his eyes locked firmly on the lady in the head scarf.

"Exactly." He held his hands together to try and stop the low rumble of a tremor coursing through them. Charles painted a smile on his face and looked back to Molly. He must have convinced her of something because her eyes softened and she relaxed.

His fingernails dug half moons into his palm. "I can't bloody wait."

* * *

Molly did love the quietness of their little flat, loved the beauty of Bath, but nothing quite beat the thrum of London in her eyes.

Jackie was sat across the table from her in the small coffee shop inside King's College Hospital.

"I don't like seeing you in proper civvies." Molly looked Jackie up and down. She had nipped across on her break for a catch up and was all done up in the NHS's most glamorous navy uniform. Jackie laughed and reached for the coffee in front of her. "Well weird, must be proper boring that now." Molly pulled a face and Jackie scoffed in protest.

"Bloody full-timers, some us have actual jobs as well you know." She said it with a smile and Molly traced her up and down in response. Jackie looked at home here as much as she did in her camo.

Molly picked idly at a sticker stuck to the table and stared at an elderly man being pushed through the entrance by his daughter. Every person she'd seen walking through here looked older than her Nan. It was a contrast to Bastion, or even Birmingham, where every patient had been young and fit and full of spark and drive.

"Couldn't do the reserves, I am not having that giving bloody Doris her paracetamol three times a day after her fall is anything near as good as Afghan." She shook her head and pushed her finger into the crumbs of the biscuit she'd just eaten.

"Don't see yourself being a nurse when you get out then?" Molly sucked the crumbs off her finger and thought for a minute.

The idea of her life outside the army wasn't one she'd thought too hard about. She watched the parade of staff queue for their drinks, doctors and nurses all with frowns, lines drawn deep over tired faces. All she could picture were the staff in Bastion, how even though everyone was tired, there had always been that spark of passion burning for every call.

"I dunno really. I wouldn't mind doing the ambulance and that but I don't think I have the marks for it." Two paramedics in their green were sat at the table across from them.

"Bloody hell, just show them James as a portfolio, think he shows your skills off enough." Molly laughed.

"Yeah who needs GCSEs when you've been to Afghan. Reckon I could put a stitch in better than any of those muppets." Molly was indignant and Jackie nodded with fervour in response.

"As the one who spends half my time redoing the stitches from those muppets, I agree."

* * *

He couldn't breathe.

"I'll be fine" He'd honestly believed it. "Go enjoy your coffee" he'd smiled, shoving Molly in the direction of King's. "I'll go for a walk." And so he had.

He knew London from the years he'd studied there, so it hadn't seemed an unreasonable task to find a café or somewhere to sit down, to let Molly out of his sights for an hour or so.

He was alone and he couldn't breathe.

Bath was quiet, Bath was manageable. London was loud noises and screaming children. All he could see were compounds and insurgents, all he could hear as he rounded the corner was jolted Pashto and he _couldn't fucking breathe._

When he closed his eyes he could see the woman from the train. He could see her with an RPG tucked under her shawl. He could see the boy lifting his arms up to reveal an explosives vest.

His eyes jarred open and he grabbed tightly onto the railing by his side.

"This isn't real." Charles had sat himself on a large set of steps up to a book shop. "This isn't real. This is London. This is safe." The words came out quieter than his breath, empty syllables against his lips as he dropped his head into his hands.

* * *

"Do you reckon you'll do another tour then?" Jackie tipped her head inquisitively and Molly sipped the now cooling dregs of her tea.

"Maybe." Molly bit her lip and plonked the mug back onto its saucer. "I'm not sure Charlie would be too keen." Jackie didn't reply and Molly very quickly felt incredibly claustrophobic under her watch. "He gets a bit funny whenever I mention the army really. I always feel proper bad, like that he can't ever go back and I can." She traced Jackie's face for a response and didn't find one. "Sounds mad that really doesn't it, that he'd be jealous of going to war. Don't get me wrong he'd never stop me." Molly watched her expressionless face desperately. "But I always sort of think it's my fault he's like this and all that." She'd never said that before, and hadn't really expected herself to ever say that out loud.

Jackie softened when Molly glanced up the next time.

"You know that wasn't your fault."

"I mean yeah I know in reality it was Badrai." Molly paused and covered her eyes for a second. "But I was the reason Smurf lost it, I was the reason we were even tracking Badrai in the first place." She'd expected that last part to come out louder than it had, it had sounded a bit pathetic even to her.

Molly felt the warmth of a hand over hers.

"That was not your fault Molly Dawes. Do not ever blame yourself for a bullet you didn't shoot." Jackie stumbled over the start of the sentence a few times, as if she couldn't quite work out what on earth she could say in that moment. "Charles loves you because of everything you have done, not in spite of it. I'm fairly certain it would hurt him more to think he was the reason you weren't doing what you love." Molly nodded solemnly.

"You're right."

* * *

When he closed his eyes he saw blood.  
When he closed his eyes he saw four tours of violence and loss in front of him.  
Four men. He'd lost four men all together.

Charles pushed his hands against his ears and screwed his eyes shut tighter.

He couldn't think about anything except Afghanistan.

He could hear the crack of machine gun fire and the thud of IEDs and he could hear Molly screaming for him to stay with her.  
There was noise vibrating through his skull, a chest-tightening, ear-bleeding wall of sound that was building up and destroying him. Every single time he heard a crack he reached down for the weapon that wasn't there and every time the simmer of panic in his chest rose closer to boiling.

Charles was on his feet and forcing himself back towards the bench Molly had left him on.

He didn't remember London ever being this busy, ever being this lonely.

His heart ached like he was under contact. He was out in the open and people were trying to kill him and he couldn't breathe.

Charles couldn't go back to the barracks, he couldn't go back there because four men had died on his watch and he couldn't sit there filing paperwork, he couldn't protect them from a desk.

He walked as quickly as he could manage, shoving and pushing and all but running through traffic until he felt the catch of the cool metal bench against his back, until he was sat sentry watching the window which Molly sat behind.

The pain followed quickly. A slow burning, searing fire of pain that was replacing the hollow space his panic had left behind.

There were flashes of light behind his eyes and he realised he hadn't taken a breath for that whole walk, his lungs roared and he sucked down air like he had been drowning. He inhaled deeply, wincing at the pins and needles in his fingers and his lips crawling through his skin, numbness pulling back, revealing something altogether more raw beneath.  
His leg was throbbing angrily at the pace he'd just set, he could already imagine the red, raw cuts where his support had dug into his ankle.

He held onto the pain, grounded himself with it, used it as his marker for reality.

"This is London, you are safe."

He couldn't hold his phone, his hands were shaking too much so he just wiped his palm against the sweat on his forehead and gripped his thigh tightly.

He didn't want to admit that this was getting worse, that this was no longer ok.

He dropped his head back, closed his eyes and counted the seconds until Molly came out of the building to get him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Firstly I want to apologise massively for the delay. I've just started back at uni and my life has apparently become mental again. I'm hoping to get back to a more reasonable schedule now everything's settling down.**

 **Secondly, hope everyone's enjoying the new our girl! Georgie and Elvis potentially may make a couple of cameos here so keep your eyes peeled.**

 **Lastly, I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was a difficult one for me to write and feel happy with.**

* * *

"Charlie."  
"Yeah."

"Your alarm's gone off 6 times now and I want to go back to sleep." Charles opened his eyes and turned over to look at Molly. She was bleary eyed and barely conscious, hair spread like a fan across the pillow.

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and ran his fingers against the tufts of hair against her face.

"Sorry." He kicked off the covers, turned the alarm on his phone off and began the trek to the bathroom.

His uniform was laid out on the sofa, neatly ironed, boots polished, the perfect example of a good officer.

Charles paused for a second to look at it, Molly had left him a note after he'd gone to bed and it was stuck to his shirt 'Good luck Handsome' scribbled on a post-it with hearts surrounding it.

The flat was silent.

Molly didn't start back at work for another few days so he was painfully alone this morning. He pulled out two plates for the toast before feeling a pang in his gut at the realisation he wasn't making two breakfasts; that he wasn't sharing a shower and spending the morning lazing in front of the TV.

Now, instead, he washed himself quickly, shaved, dressed and spent all of a few minutes sat watching the news on mute, chewing idly on a slightly burnt piece of toast.

His lie in had cost him any time he could've had to waste so before he could really process where he was heading he was out the door, down the steps, and walking towards the station.

It was early enough that the sun hadn't managed to warm the streets yet, so Charles had his hands buried in his pockets and his chin tucked beneath the collar.

The street was still asleep, curtains still shut as tight as the eyes behind them, the rustle of the wind through the trees the only noise he could hear.

He pushed his headphones over his ears and knocked play on his phone.

The station, fortunately, was only a four minute walk from his flat. He focused on his steps, the soft thud, thud, rhythm of his trainers against the tarmac overlaying some non-descript playlist he was sure must've been Molly's.

He shrugged his shoulders and pulled the straps of his rucksack tighter. Molly had packed it for him, complete with train pass, bottle of juice and two separate snacks. He'd tucked his uniform in there neatly, ready to get dressed when he arrived at work.

He felt like he was off for his first day at school, but he had to admit the routine and organisation were making this feel a lot easier.

Charles marched through the station with purpose, took his seat at the platform and waited, stoic as ever for his train.

* * *

His walk to his office took him past the Officer's mess, the place he'd lived in the run up to his last tour. It was a strange feeling imagining his life back then, that limbo after Rebecca had kicked him out.

He ducked through the door of his building and stood still for a second in the entrance.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all had changed. The foam padding of the chairs in the corridor was still pushing out from the worn fabric, the same leaflets lay on the table next to them. The paint on the door was still chipped, the coffee machine still didn't serve anything but tea.

Everything about Charles had changed but here, this microcosm of his world was still exactly the same.

He walked into the disabled toilet at the end of the hall to change out of his Civvies. He hadn't seen himself in his combat fatigues since tour and the nerves that had been flickering on and off during his commute were settling themselves firmly now, a steady hum beneath his thoughts, as constant as the drone of cars on the roads around him.

Charles huffed to himself, staring at his face in the mirror, he held his jaw strong and tried to pull his expression into one that conveyed power, leadership. He tried to give off that unashamed confidence he'd once had so naturally. In the mirror it looked convincing enough, the grip of seeing himself as Captain again drawing something guttural from him.

He dropped his eyes, let that confidence fill his veins, before stripping slowly down from his t-shirt and jeans.

His uniform fit differently than it had, his trousers digging lightly into his waist, his shirt baggy where he'd lost the breadth of his shoulder muscles. He felt like he was playing dress up.

Charles pressed the peak of his beret smooth against his head and took himself in, if he didn't think too hard for a moment, if he drowned out the dull ache ever present in his shin, if he pretended he couldn't feel the pull of the scar on his stomach he was just Charlie again.

If he closed his eyes and pretended he didn't feel his demons set fires in his mind every time there was darkness he could pretend nothing had changed.

This uniform was a part of his identity more than almost anything else and standing there he felt briefly free.

He walked towards his office with the kind of stride that only his boots could give him, rigid and strong enough to drown his limp into a subtle fleck of nothing, masked by the confidence the uniform could give anyone.

He was saluted, patted on the back and immediately pulled into a hug by his team. The ache in his gut came not from dreading being here anymore, but the realisation that this was still what he wanted more than anything.

* * *

"How are you finding being back then James? Settling in ok?" His Boss was sat across from him the canteen, day three, hour 4.

"Not too bad sir, wishing I was back in a combat role." Major Harris scoffed lightly and took a sip of his coffee.

"I saw you lodged a request for medical discharge." Charles felt Harris' eyes on him, uncomfortably close. Charles nodded weakly. "You know we'd be willing to provide a job in recruitment or admin for someone with your history. This doesn't have to be the end."

Charles shook his head and stared at the tightly wrapped sandwich in front of him.

Get up. Get dressed. Go to work. Sit at a desk. Come home. Repeat.

The idea of it loomed like a threat in front of him and he resented it more than he had thought possible.

"I don't think Civvie desk life is quite for me sir." Charles' phone buzzed on the table, Molly was forwarding pictures of the Garrison houses they were looking at moving back into once she returned to work.

"Where's Molly being stationed then James?" Harris gestured at Charles phone and raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like we're heading to Catterick sir." Harris nodded and Charles locked his phone swiftly, feeling an unpleasant gnaw in his belly.

"Well then James, you really will be a great loss to the Army." Harris stood and straightened the buckle of his belt. He dropped his head in a sort of dejected nod. "You've been one of the greatest men I've had serve under me." Harris held out his hand and Charles took to his feet, shaking it firmly.

"Thank you sir, that means a lot." He felt the catch at the back of his throat as Harris dropped his hand.

Charles breathed slowly as Harris walked away and stayed standing.

His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his chest.

Somehow it hadn't felt a reality until that exact moment, somehow the fact this life wasn't his anymore had not managed to sink in.

Charles threw the remains of his lunch into the bin and walked as quickly as possible outside into the quad.

Harris' talk was spinning in his head, endless what-ifs, dreams of life beyond his Captaincy taking his imagination hostage. It was torture, he was torturing himself but he had no control anymore.

Charles sat down on a bench and tried to breathe.

His phone rang, Molly's photo illuminating the screen.

She was smiling, tanned and happy, done up for their anniversary. She was beautiful and she was his.

Deep in his gut he wanted to talk to her. He needed to talk to his best friend, needed to unload the baggage that was crushing him.

He locked his fingers together and stared at his phone as it rang out in front of him. He knew he should have answered it, should have talked through what he was feeling. Yet he was sat there watching his career fall apart around him, watching the world he loved more than anything be stripped from under him.

Charles let his fingers ghost over the screen.

As much as he tried really hard not to think it, the voice in the back of his head was taunting him. It was the one that told him to reach for the gun he didn't have, the one that forced him to wake up from dreams in a cold sweat with tears on his cheek. It was loud and obnoxious and it had picked a new target.

She _was_ his best friend and his lover and his whole world rolled into one but she was something else too.

That voice, that demon that he couldn't quite shake was adamant it was her, utterly convincing that the only reason he was facing down the worst fear of his life was because of her.

She was the reason for the bullet in his leg, the reason Harris was holding the forms to end his career.

Charles scrubbed his hand over his face and stood up swiftly

He walked, with pace, back into his office building and sat himself down at his desk, ten new emails and a stack of papers having appeared in the last hour.

That voice, as angry and as bitter as it was, wasn't sounding quite as far fetched as it once had.

* * *

Day 4, train journey complete, walk home in progress, Molly's smiley face greeting him as she walked out of the corner shop.

"Alright handsome." He dressed himself up in a smile and took her into his arms, the carrier bag of milk banging against his leg. Molly pushed herself onto her toes and he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. "You have a good day?" She grabbed his hand and the pair of them walked down the road.

"Wasn't bad." It was easier to shut that voice up when she was there with him. When he could see her smile and her laugh and feel the warmth of her hand in his it was hard for the voice to gain control.

The path to their building, nestled between two box hedges, appeared in front of them. Charles stepped aside and let Molly walk past him.

He needed so badly to talk to her and he couldn't anymore.

Charles watched as she wiggled the key in the lock, watched the grin she threw back at him over her shoulder and felt the light tremor picking up in his hands.

He'd crossed over somewhere, walked the line for too long and at some point he'd reached a point he didn't think he could come back from anymore. Suddenly, as he stood there, statue still in the garden, he felt a loneliness unlike he'd ever felt before.

This wasn't really home anymore.

He followed Molly up the stairs to their flat and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge as Molly put the milk away.

"Bit early for that isn't it?" She pressed her hand into the small of his back and Charles shrugged.

He felt the cold of the can sear into his palm, felt the weight of a choice resting on his shoulders. He glanced across to her face and tried to find the comfort he needed in the concern of her eyes.

He dropped his eyes, opened the can and tried to quiet his mind.

* * *

It was the late evening, post-work, post- dinner, but still too early to go to bed. The pair of them were lying on top of the covers, the hum of the desk fan cutting through the air.

"Do you want to talk about how work went?" They were both naked, revelling in the post-sex warmth hanging over them. He shook his head with his eyes closed and let the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile.

"Can I just kiss you more instead?" He looked across at her all wide-eyed and gooey, voice warm and slow. Molly leant over to him, the dip of the mattress pulling her close. He pressed their foreheads together and she felt like a part of him, when he was so close she could see the different colours of brown in his eyes, when she could count his freckles and feel his breath on her lips it was like they were connected. He stayed still for a second that felt like a minute before bridging the gap between their mouths.

The cool air between them let her know of the still torturously large gap between their bodies, his finger tips dusted her side, the bridge between the pair.

Molly pulled back for a breath, he watched her, hands slipping further across her body to bring her back, big strong palms wrapping around the curve of her spine.

"We're going to talk." She was forceful this time, pushing back against his hands. Charles groaned, and rolled himself back on top of her. She let out a surprised noise, he was a big, strong weight above her and it took her breath away.

There was something fierce in his eyes this time, the intensity of his gaze coupled with the emphasised flex of his muscles as he held himself up made him a beast above her.

"My day was fine." It was rough and quiet and he kissed her neck to punctuate it, lips hovering just over her skin. His touch was sending sparks through her body, burning embers as he ran his hands up and down her sides, across her stomach.

Molly let her hands roam across his back, fingers tracing the dip of his spine, following the arch of his back down to the matt of hair at the tops of his thighs. He was flushed and breathing hard and she could feel the weight of him digging into her leg.

She wanted to hold the heat of him this close to her forever, wanted to live in this intimacy for the rest of their lives.

He lifted his head up, relaxed his arms and left himself open for a second, a second long enough for Molly to have flipped him onto his back and to be sitting on his stomach.

He let out a grunt as his head smacked into the pillow.

"We are going to talk about how work is going." He groaned and closed his eyes. She took her moment to examine him. He was wrecked in the most gorgeous way, his chest was still heaving, the ruby red flush painting the vast expanse of skin available to Molly a deep, rosy pink.

"You are evil." He wriggled in an effort to free himself, body pushing furiously against the covers, his thighs pressed into her as he fumbled for footing but he rather quickly admitted defeat.

"If you promise not to try and mount me I'll get off you." He nodded solemnly, eyes ducked low. Molly pushed her hand deep into the covers next to his shoulder and rolled next to him. They were both staring up at the ceiling, skin touching just lightly enough to leave a trail of goose bumps behind. "Ok, now talk."

Charles shifted his body, letting his leg drop wide so that their toes were touching and waited for a moment. He dropped his hands down to cover himself, regaining some kind of composure before swallowing thickly.

"It's been nice I guess."She tilted her head and watched him closely, his eyes still trained on the ceiling, his toes bumping rhythmically against hers. "Everyone's been more than lovely to me." He ducked his eyes and chewed his lip. "I mean I really wanted to be out running drills with them but I can't have everything." She wondered what he was thinking, underneath all this, underneath the lip bites and the absent smiles.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and she held her breath when he turned his head her way, eyes wide, face raw with something she hadn't seen in him before.

Everything in his expression looked torn, every line in his face contorted into a push-pull frown of confusion.

"Look, I'm not soft." Molly watched a flicker of panic cross his eyes. And there it was in front of her, her moment to try and stop this, their moment to mount this beast before it took over. "I think there's something you're not telling me about Charlie and I'm proper worried about you." Molly turned onto her side now, hand forcing his chin her way, forcing his eyes to lock with hers. "I don't want to be worried about you but I am." She felt emboldened, weeks' worth of worry pouring out of her. "I don't want you to be hiding something that I could help with, I never want you to think you're alone here."

He was just staring up at her, cheek squashed under the firmness of her hand.

"Like things have changed and it's gonna be hard. You're not who you were and if you're struggling with that we can talk about it Charlie, I just want us to talk."

The fan whirred, loud, jarring the concentration Molly had trembling through her.

"I'm fine." He was terse and the coolness in the room was palpable.

"No you're not." He pushed her hand and away and sat up now, spinning to the edge of the bed and pulling his boxers back on.

"I told you I am fine." Molly sat up against the headboard and watched as he climbed to his feet.

"How am I supposed to believe that?" She was defensive and he ran a hand through his hair, anger tight in the seams of his body.

"I don't need your pity."

"Oh piss off Charlie, don't get all on your high horse with me." She felt everything fall out of her grasp, everything she nearly had tumbling in front of her

"I don't need you accusing me of lying to you." He was reaching for his t-shirt now, tugging it over his head with speed, talking through the fabric in haste. "If I say I am fine that means I am fine." He had his jeans in his hand and he stopped. "Just because you have some fucked up guilt complex about getting me shot."

He was tugging his support onto his leg, jeans following hastily afterwards.

"That was low." She was quiet and felt the build of tears in her eyes. She saw a flicker of something, maybe regret, across his face but in a moment it had gone. With a stumble he was dressed and reaching for his wallet and keys. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going out."

"Why?" He started walking towards the door.

"Let me be normal." There was venom in the words and she froze at their delivery. "Because you've been home for month and I feel like all you've done is ask if I'm ok." He pushed the heel of his palm in to his forehead. "I can't even have sex with you without being fucking psychoanalysed." He was louder now, hands gesturing to nothing around him. "You want me to be ok, stop treating me like I'm a fucking fragile little kid." He pushed forward out of the bedroom door.

A few seconds later she was left with the cavernous slam of the front door closing. The echo of it was crushing and she held her hand to her mouth as the trickle of tears touched her cheek.

Molly didn't know who he was anymore.

She was in love with a stranger and she wanted Charlie back more than anything.

She picked up her phone and called Georgie, maybe he'd go to Elvis', maybe he'd be sensible and go find somewhere safe to sleep.

The familiar voice was a dagger in the silence of the flat and she didn't know what to say, how to explain everything.

She held onto the silence of the line for a second longer before speaking the words that she hadn't dared admit out loud.

"I've lost him."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope this is worth the wait, I've decided to be strict on myself and try and set update deadlines of every month from now on!**

 **This chapter is only short but it came to the ending it needed to and I really hope you enjoy what I've done.**

 **Thank you for sticking by this story and the characters we all love so much.**

* * *

The man walking down the back paths of Bath wasn't Charles.

He was some abstraction of himself, a soul watching a body that looked like him, talked like him. Yet this body was so marred by pain and anger and an illness that was becoming ever more consuming Charles no longer recognised himself in it.

He looked normal enough from the outside, navy hoodie zipped up, hands in pockets, he was just any person out for a walk. Charles could see shadows in the lines of his face that reminded him of himself, but the dullness of his eyes and the pinch of his mouth were nothing he'd ever recognised before.

The street he'd found himself on was pitch dark.

It felt fitting that he was wandering around a place that looked so much like it had been abandoned by the world, with its cracked, forgotten paving slabs. It smelt rich here, deep and earthy, as though the ground had been left to settle in on itself, allowed the freedom to cycle through its life in peace.

That aura of the outdoors, wet and dirty, cold against his nose was taking the rumbling pain of anger in his chest and settling it down.

Ahead of him was a bench, green from the moss growing deep within its timbers. He perched himself on the slats and stared into the darkness in front of him.

This felt to him like one of those overwhelming sort of moments.

This was the point where he had to make his choice.

His phone was buzzing in his pocket, flickers of light from the screen illuminating a haze around his hip. He pawed it with frozen fingers from his jeans and let the bulk of it sit in his palm.

"I thought you were in Syria?"

"The fact you think I actually tell you where I'm going on Ops is very cute." His voice was scratchy and distant through the phone, Charles paused, silent, unsure of quite what to say.

"Did Molly ring you?" Charles pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes and held his breath.

"Yeah she did." Elvis paused and Charles could hear the sigh he let out, heavy and weighted.

Charles' stomach flipped, nausea creeping through him. "She's so worried about you Charlie." He felt the burn in his lungs and held it for a moment longer.

"I'm fine." He picked at the softened wood with his hand, lifting his head back up to stare out into the dark around him.

His shoulders tense briefly, fists tight, a horrific flash of gun fire and screaming as footsteps tore past him.

It was a runner, nothing else, just a runner.

Charles had prided himself on his imagination when he'd been younger. Loved stories and paintings and playing endless games in the back garden with his brother.

His parents had always said he had a spark, something deep inside his brain that was switched to overdrive.

It was ironic that what had been his greatest skill as a child was now the root of all his pain.

Even now, as the anxiety settled, as Elvis pressed for more in his ear his mind wasn't still. Those wires were short circuiting.

When he pressed his hand back to his face he could feel the sharp, stony sand of Afghanistan beneath his fingers. When he closed his eyes he could feel the warm wind on his cheeks, hear the cracks of fire in the distance.

"She said you've been acting like you're seeing things." The stars were tracer rounds lighting the sky, he was a sentry and he was alone.

With what felt like the weight of the world on his chest he realised he didn't really have a choice anymore.

He'd spent close to six months living with this; okay perhaps not living, more simply existing but he'd coped in his own way. Charles had prided himself on the fact no one had managed to work out how bad it was getting, he'd had the control of the situation. It had been manageable. It had been _okay_.

However here he was, sat on this bench and Elvis knew. He was alone because he'd left her because she knew. He was trapped by his no-longer a secret, secret.

He'd spent so long living this lie now he didn't have any idea how to live the truth.

The reality of the evening hit him in the throat, he had well and truly lost control of this now.

The grip of that reality forced a sharp breath through his lips and wetness to pool in his eyes.

"Charlie." Elvis broke the silence that had followed his last statement. "It's ok to tell me if something is going on." Charles clamped his lip between his teeth to stop the shudder of voice betraying him.

He pulled the scalding phone from his ear and jammed his finger against the end call button.

 _They all knew_.

The darkness around him was no longer comforting it was a black, constrictive wall penning him in. He was trapped.

He could go home and be with her but she knew. She knew his secret and she was going to hate him for it.

The anxiety in his stomach was building to a sickly nausea. He clambered to his feet, taking a few missteps on his foot before pressing his heels firmly into the floor and starting off walking again with a pace he'd lacked before.

They knew and this was the end.

There was a quiet voice beneath the chaos of his thoughts repeating something he'd drowned out before. It was the voice that had haunted him on silent nights in Afghanistan, after he'd seen someone die in front of him, after he'd taken a life.

You should just end this now.

It was louder and getting louder and pressing on the inside of his skull, banging its way out.

This voice was demanding to be heard and it was so tempting to listen.

The streets were unfolding in front of him, lights flickering overhead, the rumble of distant cars gaining volume.

He was near a motorway he could throw himself into, he was near bridges, trains, rivers.

He couldn't stop the track he was hurtling his brain down, couldn't breathe away the thoughts like he always had.

Charles counted his steps and forced his body in the only safe direction he knew.

He realised very starkly that if he didn't go home exactly at that moment he probably wouldn't make it home ever again.

He wanted to turn every single fibre of his body off. He wanted to stop the pain in his scars and his leg and the ache behind his eyebrows. Charles needed his body to cease, he needed to breathe for the last time, he needed to die.

Charles scrunched his eyes closed and forced that to the back of his head, he needed to die to get rid of this and he could not think of a single other option except getting home.

He jammed his finger nails into his palm, pushing tiny crescent moon pockets of pain, desperately trying to distract his brain, to restart the crashing mess.

When the bulk of the hedge and the edge of the path came into focus he held onto the wall and let his knees crumble under him. The fact he'd got here was the only relief he had, the fact he'd managed to take back enough control to quiet the screaming orders in his head.

In a few hours time, when he'd try to remember his walk down the path, up the stairs and to the front door he knew so well, he wouldn't be able to.

For those minutes, as his anxiety and flashbacks pooled themselves into a raging bulldozer that tore through his heart with more power than they'd ever managed before he couldn't remember anything except pain.

But then he was there, keys in the lock, jamming the door open into the gush of warm air. Charles was a body stood in the entrance staring at Molly curled up on the sofa clutching her phone.

He noticed the faint buzzing against his leg, realised she was calling him.

She looked up to the noise, mascara lines tracking sentences of a story Charles could fill in for himself.

When he stepped from his space he was walking through treacle, so much effort forced into getting him forward the door was left open, his keys dropped at his feet.

She was too far away for him to get to and he needed to get to her.

He could hear the faint chatter of the TV, smell the vanilla candle she always lit when she was worried. He could see her.

And this place wasn't home in his mind and he was so lost, so, so lost but Molly was there. Molly was sat on their sofa and she was warm and she was the only place his heart was safe anymore.

So Charles stumbled and all but ran and collapsed next to her, face buried into the crook of her neck and let the last 6 months of pain out into her.

* * *

He was stood at the door.

After Elvis had rang and told her he'd hung up on him she'd taken it in her own hands and now she was 15 missed calls into her rampage and he was stood at the door.

When she looked up at him he was limping, all of his weight pressed through his good leg as he wobbled precariously at the door.

His eyes were red and puffy, face covered in snot and tears and a look she'd never seen from him before.

He started walking towards her and she was confronted by every memory they'd ever shared, every laugh and every smile and every fight laid out in front of her. The rawness of his expression, this fracturing, jarring version of himself was more to her than anything he'd ever shown her before.

Molly sat herself up and dropped her phone onto the table. She needed to say something. More than anything she wanted to scream at him for being such an idiot.

She hadn't spoken since he'd walked out, hadn't let herself breathe.

But there he was.

And he was such a pathetic looking man, scrawny and small and hurt. He was a fawn in the headlights where once a stag had stood proud. There were ponds behind his eyes where once oceans had roared. He was a sticky tape semblance of himself and the edges weren't quite meeting anymore.

She hated him briefly for being this way, hated the fact she had gone away and she had come back having to love someone new. She hated him for not being _her_ Charlie anymore.

More than anything she hated herself.

When he collapsed against her chest he opened something deep inside her, ripped the depths of her belly and she felt every second of that ache.

She held his face to her shoulder and she kissed his hair and she loved him so much.

He was muttering frantically into her skin, words she could only catch edges of, apologies and whimpers. His fingers were clutching the fabric of her shirt as if he would fall away and never come back if he let go.

Molly felt the lump in her throat build and she focused blindly on a patch of the wall ahead of her.

This was it.

This was the moment she'd wanted so badly and now it was here, ugly and dirty and disastrous in front of her she wasn't sure she could cope.

Molly slid her hand up the back of his shirt and let the warmth of his skin seep into her fingers. She'd never thought you could love someone to the extent that it hurt this badly to watch them be in pain.

As her world tumbled with him, as she tried to think rationally there was only one thing she knew, one thing that was keeping her hands latched to him. She needed Charles, _her_ _Charlie_ , more than anything on this planet and she wasn't going to stop until she had him back.


	6. Chapter 6

**So this is it.**

 **It only felt right to give these two an ending and since I know with time commitments I won't be able to write much more it felt like the right time to give them that.**

 **I hope you all enjoy, it's been a great adventure writing this for you all**

* * *

Chapter 6

He woke up gently, warmed back to reality by the fuzz of his senses switching on one by one.

He woke up to the smell of coffee and toast, the hum of the radio in the kitchen, the gentle stream of light through the crack in the curtains across from him.

Any other day this would have been his picture perfect novel-opener of a scene. He would have slid out of bed, pain free for a change; he would have walked into a kitchen framing his beautiful Molly, wrapped his arms around her waist and stolen the toast from her plate. Any other day he would have hummed along to the radio in her ear, inhaled the complexities of the way she smelt after sleep, warm and organically her.

This morning, in its harsh reality, he was frozen still underneath the covers. When Charles flexed his toes ripples of sharp, achey pain coursed through his leg, the reminder that his body wasn't quite ready to let him forget yet. His existence was fuzzy, for lack of a better word, as if he'd opened his eyes underneath a haze he couldn't shake.

Charles scrunched his eyes back shut, grasped the edge of the duvet and pulled it tightly around his bare shoulders. He was waiting, what for, he wasn't sure, he just knew that this wasn't the time to acknowledge the world around him quite yet.

Her footsteps were muted and he appreciated her effort to let him exist without interruption greatly. She must have brought her mug back with her because the intoxicating smell of deep roasted coffee beans was torturing his empty belly. She didn't drink coffee, which meant she'd prepped the offering for him on awakening. The simplicity of that gesture, coupled with harsh flashing memories of the previous night made his stomach flip.

He was acutely aware at this point he should probably have acknowledged her, but there he lay still frozen in his cocoon.

"I know you're awake mister, you're breathing different." She spoke quietly and dropped a hand onto the bulge of duvet where his shoulder rested.

Charles shook his head and jammed his lip between his teeth.

"Do you want me to go?" He shook his head again, he wanted her near him, wanted to overlay every aching cell in his body with hers.

"Come here." His voice held that raspy, raw, first word of the morning quality and he cleared his throat swiftly afterwards.

"That's a hard one to turn down." She pulled the covers back, the cold gush of air forcing the hairs on his body to stand to attention before she slid in behind him. "Guessing I'm the big spoon today then boss?" He didn't reply, just sunk his body into her arms, let her chin rest on his shoulder. He felt pathetic, looked pathetic, but the constant pressure across his muscles was enough to let his mind pause for a minute, to let him have a break before he had to face the inevitable.

They were sat up in bed, Charles with his legs crossed, hands wrapped around his lukewarm mug of coffee, Molly with her arm looped loosely around his waist, eyes trained on the sharp edge of his jaw.  
He knew he had to tell her everything, that for him to ever beat this, ever to finally silence that voice he needed her to know.  
"There's a lot to this." He felt her shift against his side but kept his eyes locked forward. Charles was looking at the photos of Sam. The idea of Sam seeing him like this, seeing the mess his Daddy was hurt more than he wanted it to.

"I'm in no rush."

And so he told her everything.

He told her the first time he'd woken up crying, told her how he hadn't managed to eat properly when she'd been deployed, told her how really all he wanted right now was to end everything.

She held her breath when he said that, tightened her fingers against the fabric of his shirt.

He felt exceptionally small in her arms and infinitely more vulnerable than he ever had. He dropped his gaze from the photos, unable to bear the stare from Sam anymore.

Molly had been chewing her nails, red raw finger tips clutched the grey cotton at his side. Charles pressed his face into the top of her head and waited for her reply.  
He didn't want to die, is what he explained, he just couldn't find a better option right now.  
Every shift of her body under his hands after that second was infinite because he knew it was her hurting, it was her hurting because of him.

They talked, and listened and cried. They ordered pizza and ate it in bed and Molly told Charlie she loved him more than ever as often as she could.  
It wasn't perfect, he wasn't fixed, they weren't suddenly some flawless couple but it was something. It was a big something.

Charles fell asleep with a tangible future he hadn't believed he'd wanted that morning.

He would wake up and it would be hard and he would fall asleep after nightmares and see gun shots in the night sky but he had his future.

He had her, he had Sam, he had hope.

18 months later

Charles stood still and flattened the peak of his beret.  
Molly was stood to his side, a wisp of a smirk at the corners of her mouth.

"You look proper smart stop fiddling." He dropped his head and smiled at her.

"You've got better medals than me I have to make up for it elsewhere." She laughed and he grinned, full and wide and happy. "Go socialise with all the other fancy war heroes over there anyway." He nudged her with his shoulder and Molly blushed.

"I'm not a bloody war hero."

"They don't ask just anybody to lay the wreaths though do they? In Catterick as well Molls, there are loads of us annoying veterans here, we're all gagging for the Remembrance Day fame." Charles cocked his eyebrow and nudged her again. She was trying to look professional and failing, a dopey grin shining through. "Anyway I need to man the stall, go, be famous." He gestured to the small crowd of service men and women stood with the mayor around the cenotaph.  
She nodded dejectedly and surveyed the stall behind him.

"I'm so proud of you." She dropped the smile and said it with as much sincerity as she could muster, pushing up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm 100% more proud of you but sure." She glanced back once before walking towards the group Charles had pointed to.

Charles stepped back to his stall and watched a young man pick up one of the leaflets scattered across the table.

"Excuse me?" The face that looked up at him held shadows that reminded him unmistakeably of himself a year ago. "My name is Charlie, I'm one of the support staff at our centre in Catterick."

"Johno." Charles shook his hand and smiled.

"Are you serving?" He nodded and then paused.

"Well, I just left." The young man looked down uncomfortably. "Wasn't really sitting right in my head, not been doing too well with it after my second tour." Charlie smiled sympathetically.

"I run a weekly workshop up at the centre that you might find useful, it's really informal, you come along and we all chat about what we've been feeling, what's been difficult stuff like that." Johno looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Thought Help for heroes was just for lads who've had legs blown off and that?" Charles shook his head.

"I had physical injuries too but it was when I got my PTSD diagnosis that they helped me the most. Helped me with coping strategies, went to some courses about adapting to Civvie life." Johno folded his arms across his chest. "It's been a year and a half since then and now I have a job with them, I'm coping a lot better."

"So I can just come along?" Charles pressed a leaflet into his hand and nodded.

"It will be the best decision you make. It will get better, it gets an awful lot better, but you have to work hard for it."

"I guess I'll see you there. Thank you."

Charlie watched him walk away and tucked his hands behind his back.  
Just across the square he could see Molly, now with a very excited looking Sam in tow, the pair of them heading his way.  
"Daddy!" Sam jogged the last of the distance and flung himself against Charlie.

"Hello monster." Charlie lifted Sam up and span him around. "Have you had a good day?" He nodded enthusiastically.

"Molly looked really good in her fancy uniform. You're wearing a polo shirt, polo shirts aren't cool Daddy." Charles laughed and faked mock disgust.

"They're definitely cool when I wear them." Sam didn't look impressed.

"Come on cheeky, Nana's going to take you for lunch then Dad and me are taking you the cinema." Molly ruffled his hair and pulled him back from Charlie.

"Love you both." Charles said and waved as Molly wrapped Sam's hand in her own.

"Love you too Dad." Molly walked Sam back to Charles' Mum and Charles fixed the beret Sam had dislodged from his head, standing proud in his uniform.

It didn't matter that he'd had to spend ten minutes talking through the day's plan over and over this morning with Molly, or that he'd woken up in a cold sweat once last week. What mattered was that he was getting better and that he had purpose in his work. What mattered was the fact his son and his fiancée loved him.  
And some days it might have felt a stretch for him to say he was happy, he wasn't quite there just yet, but every single day he was thankful and every single night he went to sleep excited that he got to be alive for the next morning.


End file.
